


This Story Has No Title

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Boys Will Be Boys, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, High School, Jealousy, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Non-Penetrative Sex, Prom, Puns & Word Play, Star Trek References, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 15:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2114610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boys will be boys, right?</p><p>Not so much.</p><p>Boys make their way into becoming men. That means hormones, accidents, growth spurts, and <i>budding sexuality</i>. Sounds easy enough, right?</p><p>Again, not as much as you think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Angry Birds

**Author's Note:**

> FUNNY STORY ABOUT THIS.
> 
> My friend asked me to write this a long time ago. The characters are based off of two people that I actually know, though for the sake of their anonymity, I changed it for posting. This was read at our lunch table one afternoon, and now my friends say I have ruined Star Trek for them.
> 
> Explicit Sexual Content in the final chapter.
> 
> (Unbetaed. All mistakes are my own.)

**Freshman Year**

To say that Anthony is frustrated would be an understatement. Only two hours into school, and he has already managed to make a fool of himself. Dropping his books, walking into a door, slipping on water he swore was not there—and somehow he has spilled water all over the front of his pants.

 

Now, he sits in a bathroom stall, trying to figure out what he should do. He is tempted to stay in the stall—he has enough battery life on his phone to play _Angry Birds_ until the end of school and then some while his pants dry out.

 

It is not like he will be missed in his classes, anyway.

 

The bathroom is warm, musty in the mid-Spring weather. The smell of sweat, bleach, and hormones fill his nose—he just wants this day to end.

 

Anthony sighs, running a hand through his curly brown hair. _Can this day get any more fun-tastic._

 

He stiffens when he hears footsteps, someone walking into the bathroom. _Yes. Yes, it can._ His mind conjures images of the janitor coming to clean—and worse, the principal or a teacher checking for students playing hooky.

 

What greets Anthony surprises him. He sees the shadow creep beneath the bottom of the stall, too small to be that of a teacher or the principal. A student.

 

“Anthony, open up. It’s Richard…” The voice is low, soft, but with an unspoken force behind it, “I brought you some pants.”

 

Anthony does open the door then, looking at the redhead before him. “Where did you get those pants?”

 

Richard simply smiles—a small, barely-there smile that is saved just for Anthony. “Unlike you, some of us are prepared for accidents.”


	2. Tongue-Tied

**Sophomore Year**

Richard is normally silent, happy with not saying any more than he must. He finds it easiest that way—let him be silent, let people come to whatever conclusion they want. He does not care what they think—he is _Richard_ , A+ student, borderline-genius, (future ruler of the world.)

Yet, for all of his silence, he does not miss a beat. His eyes are always open, always seeing, always _knowing_.

(So what if Shelby calls him crazy? She will not be saying that when she is in the coal mines.)

Most of the time, Richard knows exactly what he wants to say, the thoughts that go unspoken—some kind, some snippy, some a bit vulgar. For every word spoken, he thought ten, twenty times as many.

Yet… there are times when Richard is at a loss for words, when he cannot find a thing to say, his tongue tied in his mouth. The rosy flush spreads on his cheeks, his throat, the tips of his ears. His chest warms, a gentle and fuzzy feeling he cannot quite name.

These are the times when he talks to Anthony. He struggles in these moments, the English language all but lost to him in the brunette’s presence. It is ridiculous, silly, _illogical_.

It is Anthony’s smile that makes him flush, the show of white teeth held straight by braces—so many times, Richard finds himself returning the smile, laughing along with him.

He does not mind these moments. He cherishes them, deep in his heart.

Not that anyone will ever know that, though.


	3. Envy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively titled _Who the Fuck is This?_

**Junior Year**

The first thing that Richard notices is the new guy at the table, sitting in _his_ spot between Anthony and Shelby. The guy—the _boy_ —is smiling; bright brown eyes and gestures that Anthony’s complete attention.

Richard’s hand twitches.

He already does not like him.

He pulls a spare chair from one of the empty tables and places it on the other side of Anthony. The brunette spares him a single glance before returning back to the boy— _what, no hello?_

Breathe in. Breathe out. Richard takes out his circular sandwiches and juice, then setting them on the table. The boy laughs—too loud, too noisy, it makes Richard antsy. His hand tightens around his juice bottle.

Maybe the boy will shut up when he shoves it down his throat.

Anthony laughs along, Shelby as well, and a weight drops in Richard’s gut.

Then it all goes to hell when the boy pats Anthony on the back—too slowly, too low to be friendly. _Who the fuck does this guy think he is? What right does he have to do that?!_

Red-faced, he stands, towering over where the boy sits. Richard is not loud, but nevertheless terrifying as he speaks. “Go. Now.”

In the next moment, the boy is all but running away, tail between his legs.

“Why’d you do that? Will was a nice guy,” Shelby whines.

Richard does not look at her as he takes his rightful place. “I don’t like him.”


	4. Mouth

**Senior Year**

Prom is an overrated concept based on the human need to conform and flock together in large groups. Loud music, dancing, (most likely spiked) punch.

Such a scene is not a desirable one for Richard. Weeks before, he came up with a plan to end his parents’ endless nagging for him to go to Prom. _“It’s your senior year! You need to enjoy it before you go to college.”_

No. Just no.

He now sits in Anthony’s room, his suit half-off. The brunette looks at him with mirthful eyes and a crooked smile. “You _skipped_ Prom? Won’t your parents find out?”

Richard chuckles as well, sliding the jacket off his shoulders before folding and hanging it over the chair that Anthony is leaning against. “Shelby has my phone. If my parents call, she will tell them that she is keeping it for safe keeping in her bag, and that I am in the restroom.”

“And why would she do that?”

Richard smirks, undoing his tied in slow, deliberate motions. “I have found that monetary gain is an excellent motivator on her part.”

“So you paid her?”

“I paid her _well_ —fifty dollars and a voucher for three months out of the coal mines.”

At that, Anthony laughs outright, a soft lilting sound from somewhere behind his ribs.

“Please… stop stripping,” he chuckled, watching the partially-dressed redhead, “I like the whole James Bond look. It suits you.”

“Oh. And here I thought I would earn my money back.”

They both flush as soon as the words are spoken. Anthony turns away, hiding his face from his friend. “So… what movie are you up for? Star Trek? The Matrix?”

“Old Star Trek or new Star Trek?”

“2009 Star Trek.”

“Put it in.”

Richard would have groaned had he been a lesser man—why, oh why, did the English language fail him now? He turned at the same time Anthony did, both closer than either expected.

They collided, the movie case falling from the brunette’s grasp. It hits the floor with a clatter, the impact lost to them.

They stand close, chests touching. Richard towers above Anthony, though only in their inch difference.

Like the string of a bow, the tension snaps.

The kiss is not like that of movies or books, of those romantic scenes. It is awkward and needy, and just so fucking _good_. It is a thirst finally quenched, a four-year hunger finally sated. Lips and teeth and tongue collide, rough and uncoordinated.

Richard’s fingers weave into Anthony’s chestnut curls, pulling him closer. Anthony whimpers—fucking _whimpers—_ and grasps the taller boy’s shirt, clawing heatedly at the prim, white fabric.

Then, the door opens. A gasp is heard—high, distinctly feminine. Anthony trips in his haste to get away, falling back onto his bed with the grace of a dying goat.

“Damn it, Shelby!”

“Oh my god… I am so sorry.”

For the first time, Richard grins—a wide, toothy, dreamy grin that is as amazing as it is strange. Nothing can ruin this moment—not Shelby, not his parents outside, not the dogs currently sniffing at his feet.

“Richard will suffice.”


	5. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~So who got that Matrix reference in the last chapter?~~

**Ten Years Later**

Jackson has not changed since he left. People still bustle around the streets. The air still stems with the city and _Tennessee_ —cars, dogs, country music coming from an open store, barbeque being sold on the side of the road.

Anthony smiles, green eyes shining with elation.

It is good to be home.

He turns on the corner, heading down the street to the (new) café at the end of the block. Shelby had heard he was coming back home to visit his family— _how_ she knows, he is unsure—and asked him out for coffee.

What could the harm be? Knowing Shelby, it could cost him a valuable body part—but, hey, that was back in the day.

He had accepted, and now Anthony stands in the coffee shop, but there is no sign of Shelby. Maybe she is late…

The café is busy—people walking around, flocking like rabid birds, trying to get their midday fix of caffeine. Anthony steps inside, only to collide with one patron of the coffee-fueled mob. The man’s cup falls from his grip, landing on the brunette’s front—the black liquid covers Anthony with an awkward heat.

“Oh! My apologies.” The man is trying to clean him off, but there is no saving Anthony’s shirt.

Anthony is about to speak when he looks up at the man’s face. _Holy shit._

“Richard?”

The man stills, eyes impossibly wide. “Anthony?”

They stand there for several moments, each assessing the other. A strange silence fills the air between them, an electric current dancing where Richard’s hand rests on Anthony’s stained shirt.

Richard has grown since senior year, Anthony notices. The inch difference between them is larger, now three of four times that—it makes Anthony feel… small, almost. He is still lean, a thin frame. His hair is a bit longer, yet the auburn tresses are just as well-kept as the rest of the man. Anthony chuckles, smiling up at his old friend.

The first thing Richard notices is Anthony’s eyes—the same green hues, no longer hidden behind the metal-framed glasses he wore in high school. His teeth are white, straight, braces long-forgotten. A splash of freckles highlights his cheeks, darker now beneath the flush.

The two men are drawn from their reverie by one of the café workers coming to clean up their mess.

“Excuse me,” the tiny woman has to step back before setting up the _wet floor_ sign.

Finally, Richard speaks, “I… messed up your shirt. I’m so sorry…”

Anthony chuckles, running a hand through his hair absentmindedly, “No, don’t worry about it. I don’t really even like this shirt anyway.”

The little woman cleaning sighs, giving them a sidelong glance. This does not go unnoticed by the duo. Richard takes the other man’s hand—a once-friendly gesture, something they used to do in the simplest of times, but now it is something else entirely. The touch sends their skin ablaze, a fire reflected in their eyes.

“Would you like to come over? I’m sure I have something I can fix your shirt with.” The words are lower than normal, dropping in Richard’s voice.

Anthony swallows, his skin growing darker—he feels like a teenager all over again—and nods.

They had a decade to make up for.


	6. Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (screaming)
> 
> EXPLICIT CONTENT AND MACHINIST PUNS, KIDDIES!!

They have been dating for six months, two weeks, and three days—yes, they keep up with this, it is very important. And it has been the best time (six months, two weeks, three days) of their lives. The soft touches and sweet words, the knowledge that they finally _have each other_ is almost dreamlike.

And, of course, the sex is always great.

Anthony is not surprised when Richard pushes him against the wall when he gets home from work. _This_ is the way they relieve stress, take the edge of the day off. Richard demands and Anthony gives without question, and visa versa.

The brunette groans when his hair is tugged, a hot mouth pressing to his throat. Richard’s hips are pressed up against his own—fucking hell, he’s so _hard_. Anthony shivers, bucking against his lover.

“Fuck, Anthony,” Richard growls against his flesh, teeth biting into the pale skin, “Gonna fuck you so good, baby… Gonna drill your ass till you can’t walk in the morning.”

Laughter bubbles from his throat, Anthony wraps his arms around the taller man. “I thought we agreed on this—no machinist puns in bed.”

He is rewarded with another harsh nip, the redhead pulling him closer. “You know you love it,” he breathes huskily, “I need you naked. Now.”

The sojourn to the bedroom is quick, a flurry of hands and kisses and clothes. Anthony laughs softly as he is pressed down onto the bed, Richard hovering over him. One arm on either side of his head, the brunette is caged beneath his redheaded lover. They lay naked, bodies pressed together in a mixture of skin and heat.

“Look at me,” Richard demands, sitting back on his knees between Anthony’s thighs, “Look at me when I fuck you.”

Anthony looks up, eyes wide and face flushed, lips red-bitten. “Richard, please…” He reaches up, grasping his lover’s bare shoulders, nails digging into his skin, “Richard… _oil my parts._ ”

The redhead groans, deep and unbidden. He reaches over to the bedside table, fingers dipping into the oil there. “That what you want, baby? You want me to oil you up and use you?”

“Yes, please… _fuck_ , Richard…”

Richard complies—how can he deny such beautiful begging?—and wraps his hand around their cocks. He pumps once, twice, reveling the sensation. Anthony mewls beneath him, arching up into the touch.

The pace is quick, rough, toe-curling delicious. Pants and moans mix in the air, hot and humid and fucking music to Richard’s ears. “Yeah, c’mon baby…” he groans, meeting Anthony’s emerald eyes, “Come for me.”

It does not take long before Anthony arches, body tight as a bowstring. He comes in thick white stripes and a strangled cry, Richard following seconds after.

They lay together, Richard leaning on Anthony. Their breaths mingle, sweet and slow. Anthony chuckles, nuzzling the other’s throat.

“I love you.”


End file.
